Sore
by Little Obsessions
Summary: "More chivalrous to my mind. But don't hurt him too much. I care about him, you know. Even though I don't always like him. I wouldn't want him hurt…too badly..." Clarisse and Joseph let their guard slip. M-rated one-shot for Wild Mei Ling (and all her help).


**Author's note:** Ah, so this is...different. Different good, or bad, I don't know. But it's certainly different, and worthy of its rating. If you don't enjoy that kind of thing, turn back now.

I hope you enjoy it, and please review if you have time. I found it particularly odd, that I was compelled to write this, so please let me know if you like it.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing in terms of character, and acknowledge the rights of Disney and Meg Cabot to any of their property. I make no monetary gain from writing.

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The rain was coming down in grey, dense sheets – the heavens heavy and open. It was skittering off the streets, making the quaint cobbles slippery underfoot. The sky was a dark grey, and the cloud were rolling in from the coast, bringing thick darkness with them.

The meeting room was stuffy though, ripe with the over-run meeting which had just disbanded. The rest of the Committee for Tourism had gone before, but she had been forced to linger behind with the General Manager of the tourism board – who wanted to discuss more support from the family - and now they had caught themselves in the storm.

"This weather…"

She turned to him as she slid her briefcase closed.

"Is it irritating you?"

He smiled and pulled his black overcoat on.

"So it is," she settled her elbow on the windowsill, "I like this view…"

He sidled up beside her and stood in front of it. She watched him tipping his head from side to side, then he turned his face towards her and raised a sceptical brow.

"Well not right now," she said lightly.

"I've never noticed it before," he said softly, "Not really. But it is a beautiful view."

"I like it because it's in the centre of the city which I can't enjoy un-impeded by-"

"By me?"

He laughed lightly.

"Yes, by you," she laughed too, "But despite myself, I rather like you."

"Despite yourself."

There was silence for a moment.

"This weather's so miserable; you are getting pale."

He pulled up the sleeve of the rich woolen coat and proffered his arm, setting it up beside hers on the windowsill.

"Skin of the nobility," he prodded the flesh of her forearm, just above her watch.

His fingers left momentary blemishes, which barely existed before they vanished.

"Ha, skin of a woman with no time more like," she looked at his, "Now _this_ is a man used to the sun."

"I grew up in the sun," he smiled, and motioned his head towards the window, "Not in this. I haven't been for a run in weeks."

"Are you missing Spain?"

He stood up, rolling his sleeve down as he turned back to the window.

"No. I'm not missing Spain. I never miss Spain. We could go," he prized the wooden slats open for a better look, "It's easing off. And you really have to get back…"

"Do I? Really?"

He slid his eyes towards her, and they were dark, but then he looked again towards the window.

"Yes."

"Oh I don't have to," she murmured, "And no one gets to tell me what to do. Not even you."

He laughed at her words but it was harsher than ordinarily.

"Am I sensing some friction Your Majesty?"

She combed her fingers through her hair.

"Don't call me that, not when we're alone," she said gently, a subtle reprimand.

"Sorry Clarisse. The weather's eased off," he offered his hand for her to stand, "Let's go."

He let her go before him, but then she turned at the door. Her curiosity was getting the better of her.

"What would you do if I simply refused?"

He stalled, so they were out of earshot of the waiting security at the doors to the government buildings. Joseph's men, of course. His men were always somewhere.

"I wouldn't be inclined, or have any right, to force you."

She nodded, "But you want me to go back, for this dinner?"

He smiled patiently, "There's a small window of time before a serious storm hits. Can we get into the car…and discuss it there?"

She nodded, and went before him again.

The rain was still heavy and he shielded her under one of those ridiculously huge umbrellas that his men had to hand. He pulled her close, holding the door open for her so she might enter the limo.

"Tell me why."

She barely gave him time to get his seatbelt on, or indeed clip hers in when she simply forgot.

"Do we have to?"

She turned her face towards him. Her look brooked no protest.

"Yes."

"Why? Why now?"

There was silence before she answered. He was sure it was the answer he was expecting, but it explained her recent – understandable – prickliness. He immediately felt the mood shift – from one of half-jocular, half-serious barbs, to the quiet honesty that had come to be the hallmark of their complex, sore friendship.

"He's been having an affair…again."

"I know," he murmured.

There was a dense silence then, which made her as uncomfortable as it did him.

"I know you do. You know everything."

He wouldn't look at her.

"Clarisse, for a start, I wouldn't make you go back. Not if, I thought, it was what you really wanted."

She nodded once, "Then bloody don't."

He smiled, though something in her knew it was against his will.

"What would you have me do?"

He seemed almost angry as he asked.

There were so many things, she knew, that could be said when answering that question.

"I'd have you take me away…"

He looked out of the window, "What about your job?"

A bitter, angry laugh poured forth, almost against her will. She pressed her fingers against the black glass. They lefty cloudy, hot prints.

"Your naivety is endearing Joseph."

"Sorry?" He asked, and knew his tone was biting.

"I mean…" she laughed that odd little laugh again, "I mean my job was over a long time ago. Just after my second son. I made one son, then another and then…job done. "

She felt him squirm beside her.

It's true," she murmured, almost defensively.

"Maybe that is why I don't like when you say it," he said softly.

His hand sought out hers on the leather between them, and his fingers closed around hers.

There was a pause, during which there was nothing, not even a glance, between them.

"So, for talking sake, imagine we didn't go back. Where do we go?"

She smiled. Shrugged.

"You tell me."

He shook his head, "I didn't start this game."

She smiled, "It's not a game."

"No?"

"No," she shook her head, "It's a fantasy."

He shook his head again.

"Right, well…" he swallowed, "I would-"

"Tell me something you know I want to hear."

He shook his head again, "Clarisse, I don't know if you want to hear this."

She shrugged, "I'm feeling reckless…try me."

He nodded and stroked his fingers over his chin.

"For a start…I wouldn't let you go back to him, back to that. I wouldn't stand back as he fu… screwed every willing girl who walked by."

She raised a brow and he smiled, pleased his slip had invited her humour.

"Good so far, I suppose," she shrugged, "Even if it's more vindictive than chivalrous."

"It makes me feel vindictive."

She laughed, "What else does it make you feel?"

"Jealous."

"Care to elaborate?"

He looked to the window again, "No. Elaboration leads to corroboration."

"Okay. Continue."

"After I'd pummelled your husband, your best friend, our king, into oblivion, I would take you away."

"More chivalrous to my mind. But don't hurt him too much. I care about him, you know. Even though I don't always like him. I wouldn't want him hurt…too badly. On a horse?"

"Don't curtail my fantasy violence," he warned, not entirely joking, "And to answer; in a black Jaguar," he continued.

"Mmmm, better."

"But I don't know if I could wait," he said quietly, darkly, after a few seconds.

She felt, for the first time in the conversation, as if she wasn't quite sure what was happening.

"Wait?"

He wouldn't look at her, but he moved uncomfortably in his seat. His seat belt sprung back to its position by the door.

"I couldn't wait…until we got wherever we were going. The wait, after all these years, would be too long. I'm patient but... If I could get you out of the palace gates, I would be doing well."

"I wouldn't want to wait either," she said quietly.

He nodded, then unclipped her belt even before she realised it. She watched it slither over her own lap as if she was observing from outwith her body, heedless to the shift in dynamics. She let him pull her towards him, so they were face to face. They'd been here before, so many times, inches from the fidelity which separated her from the sins of her husband.

This time was different. And neither of them could understand why.

"Stop me. Stop me now."

She shook her head, her lips falling open in readiness.

His lips covered hers, hot and hard on her mouth. They trailed down onto her jaw and to her neck, where his fingers pushed her head back so it was pressed against top of the seat. She felt the pads of his fingers circling her pulse.

"I would make you scream in pleasure," he murmured against the thrum of her arteries, "And I would treat you like the queen you are."

His hand trailed down her chest, and she fell backwards, melting into the seat further. His hands were confident on her cotton shirt, tugging it from the waistband of her skirt. Fingers slid upwards, and she gasped and arched into his hand.

"Stop me Clarisse, please."

She shook her head again. The rain was battering the car, masking their heavy breaths and moans. Thunder rumbled, shattered the sky, lightening illuminating the grey.

He pulled his hand from her shirt and it moved to the hem of her skirt. Tight as the material was, he tugged it upwards easily, so it was bunched at the top of her thighs.

It took only a second for his hand to find its purpose, and she let him.

She gasped against his fingers, against their confidence and cunning and sureness. Then there was utter silence as he watched her, his concentration so intense she was frightened that he wasn't quite there. His eyes were black with determination, as if he was facing up to a measure of his own worth. She gasped with the rhythm of his fingers, her eyes locked with his. He moved forward to kiss her, but she was loosely there with him, and somewhere else entirely at the same time – somewhere she had not known, until now, existed. His mouth instead moved to her ear. He said nothing at first, his lips simply gentle and warm on her skin.

"I love you."

And with that the world shattered, so intensely that she couldn't cry her pleasure into the air. She convulsed wordlessly, falling into his chest to scream silently into the heat of his black shirt.

"Like that," he murmured against her hair after a while, his hands coming up to hold her to him, "I'd make you feel like that."

She was silent as she rested there, and felt the sensation of utter bliss whisper across her very soul.

"Joseph, you?"

He stalled her hand at his waistband.

"No," he murmured, "No, you can't."

"We."

"What?"

"I would say us. It would be 'we'."

"Not for long," he said softly, "The pressure would get to us. I can't go there with you."

He pushed his thumb out to wipe the lipstick from her mouth, and then his hands went to her blouse to straighten it up.

"You're not my vengeance," she said softly, understanding his reluctance but not wanting to.

He took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his fingers first before answering.

"I know that," he said, looking into her eyes, "But I am frightened I would become…overwhelming. I couldn't make love to you and then…" he murmured, struggling to find the words, "I couldn't watch you with him. You know that, don't you?"

"So you'll just do this, instead?"

She couldn't give a name to it. It wasn't so much a violation as it had been a willing, wanted, desired moment of madness.

And she didn't feel empty, or cheated, or disgusted.

She felt relieved.

"I doubt you'll let me," he clipped her belt back into place.

There were tears lingering in her eyes, "I don't think…" she swallowed, "I don't think I could concentrate. I think I would begin to lose it."

"My sentiments exactly."

They were quiet as he settled back into his seat. She combed her fingers through her hair.

"I can't leave him-"

"Let's not talk about this," he said softly, "It'll just be sore."

"I wish I could."

He sighed, "You can't."

The rain had stopped now, and outside had brightened considerably. They weren't far from the palace.

"You said you loved me."

"I do."

"There'll be sun tomorrow," she whispered.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead.


End file.
